


The World is Quiet Here

by staticsighs



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor is always trans forever and ever take that nerds, Connor is soul searching, Fluff, M/M, Snowed In, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 10:37:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17160455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staticsighs/pseuds/staticsighs
Summary: Connor waits at home for Hank to drive through the snow and come back to bed with him. Hank reminisces, and Connor reflects. The snow falls, still and silent.





	The World is Quiet Here

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Brief trigger warning here: Hank has a panic attack while driving, and reflects on a traumatic event. Also, this isn't a trigger warning, but this is M rated for some light smutty stuff but this is also mostly just fluff not fucking, so...be prepared, I guess?

Hank gets the text notification from Connor just as the first snowflake falls onto his nose.

         Text From: Connor

         Text To: Honey Bear

         _Be careful out there!!! It’s going to snow! Get home right away!_

Accompanying his insistent text was a sprinkle of snowflake and sparkle heart emojis. Hank clicks his tongue against his teeth and smiles, typing up something quick in response as he gets into the car.

         Text From: Honey Bear

         Text To: Connor

         _omw, kitten. save a spot in bed for me somewhere around sumo willya_

He starts the car and feels his phone vibrate against his leg from inside his pocket, but dismisses it; he told Connor he’d be home, and he will be soon. Checking his phone was more trouble than it was really worth. Roads would be slick now, and he had to focus.

Hank drives carefully, mindful of every car on the road around him—maybe too mindful, his brain murmurs, traitorous and soft, but he can’t think that way. Can’t get distracted. Every part of his body wants to leap out from beneath his skin but he can’t get distracted. Connor’s at home waiting. It’s just him in the car, and nothing bad is going to happen.

The light turns green. Hank drives forward after giving a hard glance in every mirror and through the windshield, the wipers swiping valiantly across the slick sheet, the shine of the streetlights sputtering out overhead. His car gurgles with concern somewhere in the general region of the undercarriage as Hank applies pressure to the brake while he makes the turn towards his neighborhood.

“I’m fine,” he says, and it echoes around him. He can drive, god damn it, he knows this. He hasn’t had a problem with this in ages, why now of all times when the last time was—

_When was the last time you had something to hold onto, Hank?_

He ignores the complications that rise from that question like bile, his throat tight and smarting while he checks his rear view mirror and flinches at the car creeping up behind him. He goes just slow enough so they’ll pass him, speeding off into the night with snow sleeting up around their spinning tires.

“Jesus,” Hank sighs, rubbing his thumb against the old leather wheel of the car. “Been ages since it’s been this bad. What the fuck?”

He knows why, and it’s the reason he’s driving home a little faster now. His eyes are focused on the road, every muscle working to the best of its memory executing every turn of the wheel that winds him closer back to home, but his thoughts are on Connor now, his lithe little body curled up under the mass of blankets strewn like a bowerbird nest over his sheets. Was he laying his delicate cheek against Sumo’s fluffy flank? Or was Sumo settled happily on top of him, licking idly at his paw and waiting for the snow to finish falling, so he could go outside and play?

A little faster, now. The porch light is on and he’s waiting.

Hank pulls into the driveway and lets out a low, long sigh of relief. When he reaches up to adjust his mirror again, the light shifts and he can see his son in the back seat, smiling.

“It’s okay,” Hank says to the empty seat. “I got back safe. I love you, Cole.”

He takes out the car keys and clambers out of the car, his seatbelt snapping back with a nylon rustle before Hank slams the door. His jacket rustles with the weight of his phone, and Hank’s hand darts down to pick it up on reflex, finally swiping the unlock button and checking the most recent message he’d received.

His face flushes. Heat rises and blood sinks, and he’s stowing the phone away, the photo of Connor curled up in one of his shirts hiked up to his neck, his little breasts on display along with his fingers in his own cunt shining slick in the flash light banished back to its place behind the fingerprint lock on his phone.

Hank takes his jacket and shoes off inside, and he’s man enough to admit his hands are trembling a little. He hangs his jacket up and unties his tie, fidgeting with his shirt buttons as they slip and fumble under his fingers, calling, “Con?”

Silence.

Hank’s heart seizes up. His skin is tight as the fear slipping around his guts like a rabbit’s snare. He forces himself through and tries again. “Connor?”

Sumo awoos in response, low and keening, and Hank’s stumbling to his room in a barefoot, wrinkled-shirt panic, his hand seizing on the doorknob and wrenching the door open wide.

Connor sits in his bed, calm and pale as the snow falling outside. The way the porch light shines down on the softly rising piles glances off their gentle edges and glows atop Connor’s skin. He’s a vision, so ethereal and distant that Hank can’t help but groan in fear, a reflex caught under his breath, desperate panic breaking in and insisting it _was_ a dream, somehow all of this was a dream and Connor was gone or hadn’t ever existed to start with and Hank was just—

“It’s quiet,” Connor says, and the soft lull of his voice makes Hank’s heart still. His mind is soothed into silence at the rustle and creak of the bed. “I never knew snow could fall so silently.”

“Never seen a snowfall? Can’t be right, you’re in Detroit,” Hank mumbles, shaking his head and tossing his shirt into the laundry basket. It misses by a wide mile and Connor makes an impatient little noise, his clear pale brow wrinkling together. Hank chuckles, undoing his belt and dropping his slacks to the floor, stepping out of them and towards the bed. He leaves a bigger mess with that one, but Connor doesn’t seems to mind it as much.

“I’ve seen snow,” Connor says. “On the ground, I mean. But I’ve never been. Awake. For a snowstorm. Before, when I was just—just a machine, it was different. I saw it, but through…through frosted glass, I think. Just the shape of the thing. But this is new. Now I have the whole of the thing, the truth of it…”

He trails off, watching the moon outside. It falls silver across the floor and transforms the space between them into something shining and soft. Hank closes the gap with ease, tumbling into bed and throwing his arms around Connor, burying his face into his shoulder with a weary, branch-rustle sigh.

“I got all worked up on the way home,” Hank says. “Haven’t done that in years. But it’s a big snowstorm this time, and you…I just. I worried I wouldn’t make it home to you, Con.”

“Thank you for being honest with me,” Connor says, lifting Hank’s hand up and putting it in his lap. “But I promise I was quite safe. I fed Sumo his dinner and then came in here to wait for you. Can’t you feel it?”

Hank rubs his thumb against Connor’s dick and snorts in amusement, a warm whuff of air against his skin. “Yeah. I feel you, kitten.”

“Mm, good,” Connor sighs. “Hank?”

Hank makes a querying noise, his fingers rolling Connor’s dick between their rough, callused pads. “Yeah?”

“Can we just,” Connor leans back into his broad chest. “Cuddle? It’s so quiet. I want to watch the silence, Hank. I’ve never seen the world this way before.”

Hank nods, his fingers slipping away from Connor’s dick, both hands sliding under his thighs and hefting Connor up and into his lap as Hank scoots back to rest himself against the pile of pillows buttressed against the headboard. Sumo pads in, tail wagging, and sticks his snout under the blankets before putting both front paws into the sheets and hopping up onto the protesting mattress.

“You two are gonna break this goddamn mattress,” Hank grouses, but there’s no bite in it. He kisses Connor’s shoulder. “Lay your head back, kitten. Watch the snow fall.”

“I will,” Connor promises. “What about you?”

“Me? I’m tired, I had work, and,” Hank trails off, all his words tumbling off the cliff jutting from Connor’s pout. He leans in and kisses it away. “Goddammit, fine. C’mere. Just let me hold you.”

“Oh, Hank,” Connor sighs in pleasure, sinking into the warm, strong arms that wrap around his waist. “It’s so wonderful now. Seeing snow for the first time, for real, for…for you. Because of you. Sort of. Um. Hank?”

“Mm?”

Connor’s voice is quiet as the snow outside. “I love you.”

Hank leans his head on Connor’s shoulder and nods, his hands squeezing Connor a little tighter against him. “Love you too, Con.”

The room is still and silent after that, and only the wind whistling outside every so often disturbs them. Connor makes idle plans internally for what his snow day schedule will consist of—pointedly not mentioning the snowballs he plans to throw at Hank, or the preconstructions he’s made of the ideal snow-throwing angles and scenarios—until he slips into standby without even noticing, his programs winding down into sleep mode from natural inactivity. Hank holds Connor in his arms, still awake, and watches the snow fall.

His arms wrap a little tighter around Connor, keeping him safe. His head falls to rest atop Connor’s shoulder, and his breath is soft and warm as it skitters over Connor’s skin, matching the wheeze from Sumo’s wet nose as they both drowse in a protective circle around Connor, who is cradled firmly amidst all the blankets, fluff, and scruff that Hank, Sumo, and their bed provide.

He doesn’t dream; Connor’s ‘dreams’ are just the events of his existence, playing out of order, sporadic and staticky. But if that’s close enough, for what it’s worth, he dreams of Hank, and being hugged.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, all, but especially to Alex because I wrote this for you and you're wonderful!


End file.
